


Bring Back the Happy Endings

by gentlesleaze



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Speculation, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlesleaze/pseuds/gentlesleaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Henry finds himself in the Enchanted Forest, he embarks on a journey to find Emma and reverse the author's spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Back the Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by some theories and speculation for the season finale.

He wakes up in a haze, feeling groggy and disorientated. The last thing Henry remembers is the violent wind and blinding light swirling around a rapidly spinning vortex with his storybook at its center, having just found it after hours of searching throughout the abandoned town. His head is still pounding when he opens his eyes, and his headache worsens as he takes in his foreign surroundings.

He’s not in his room, or in his grandparents’ loft. The ceiling is higher, the room more spacious, and his ample four-post bed furnished with plush blankets and silky sheets is a welcome surprise. But it’s not home.

Further inspection of his quarters leads him to the conclusion that he’s not in Storybrooke. He’s not even in the Land Without Magic. A glance through his window and out onto the vast body of water that borders the estate is enough to enlighten him to the fact that he is, in fact, in the Enchanted Forest.

(Other details confirm his theory, like the architecture, decorations, and scattered items in his bedchamber that he figures are this world’s equivalent of an XBOX. He’s read his book cover to cover enough times to recognize the fairytale setting.)

Henry finds the dining hall easily enough, and his stomach growls at the prospect of being filled. He’s not sure what he expects to find but it certainly isn’t the sight before him: Regina sitting at the head of the table, dressed in light and cream colors, her long hair cascading down her shoulders with a smile so genuinely blissful that he has to do a double-take.

“Mom?”

“Well look who’s finally up,” she says—practically sings—as she gets up and walks over to him. His body is rigid as she goes in for a hug, still stunned by her new appearance, but he eventually relaxes into it. She’s safe and obviously content. Maybe the curse broke and they were all sent back. Maybe, finally, everyone had gotten their happy endings. Maybe Operation Mongoose was an enormous success.

“Where’s my mom?” he asks, voice muffled as he disentangles himself from their embrace.

“What… do you mean?” There’s laughter in her tone but he senses her unease nonetheless. “I’m right here.”

“My other mom,” he clarifies. Her expression is just as confused as before. “Emma?” Henry tries but it’s no use. Regina has no idea what he’s talking about, and the topic is evidently making her uncomfortable.

(He can’t tell if she’s being intentionally ignorant about the matter. He recalls months of being made to feel like he was crazy; of being sent to Archie and constantly being reminded that his theories about dark curses and evil queens were nonsensical. Henry knows Regina’s made amends for that time in their lives—knows she’s not that person anymore—but there’s a twinge in his gut, a creeping fear that here, in this realm, things have gone back to the way they were.

Henry chooses to see the best in her, however; chooses to believe that she’s under a spell or curse or the victim of whatever it is that’s going on.)

He doesn’t bring it up after that, just plays it off as a part of a dream he had thought was real. They spend the rest of day together, and Henry gets a rare glimpse at a life where his mom is truly at peace, unburdened by revenge and villains and unfortunate circumstances that always seem to bring her down. But as glad as he is to see her this way—to exist in this joyous bubble within her castle—he knows it’s not right. This isn’t real.

He resolves to find the solution on his own if he has to.

That night, for the first time in nearly four years, Henry runs away from home.

.  
.

He doesn’t have a plan so much as a set of goals; a checklist of things to do and people to locate. His immediate family is his main concern, of course, and there’s one person specifically whom he knows is the key to fixing everything. She must be. She is the Savior after all.

Henry’s journey leads him through the dense woodland—a much more laborious undertaking than hopping on a bus to Boston. He’s tucked behind the mossy trunk of an evergreen, ducking for cover until he senses it’s safe to continue his trek. A brief encounter with the queen’s guards earlier that morning—who were led by Grumpy of all people—instills enough trepidation in him to not wander around so openly. He uses the moment of respite to take a drink from his canteen and cuff his pants at the ends (he can admit, despite the situation he finds himself in, that he’s excited by his quest and very much eager to press on).

Through his brief conversations with Regina the day before, and some research of his own, he’s gleamed that there’s been a sort of role reversal. He learns, among other things, that Snow White is this alternate universe’s version of the Evil Queen. She has no husband (another family member unaccounted for, he notes) and no children (so he can scratch out the Queen’s palace as a possibility for where Emma could be).

His priority is finding his mom, which is significantly more complicated than just looking up her address on an online registry. He thinks of his grandparents’ mantra—a vow to always find one another—but knows that their current selves would likely be of no help to him. He needs someone else who’s proven to be just as capable in that regard. Someone who’s villainous persona would turn them into a hero in this swapped reality. And suddenly it comes to him.

He was able to find us in New York, so how hard could this be?

.  
.

Hook’s—no, Killian’s—whereabouts are simple to determine. The man was obsessed with the sea and everything nautical (Henry has the callouses and rope burn to prove it) that anything short of a life on the open water for his happy ending was close to impossible.

Henry’s strategy is equal parts pragmatic and sentimental: find the person who can find Emma. And if their impassioned reunion upon her return to Storybrooke days prior (and the cringe-worthy clinging and staring and total lack of consideration for the 13-year-old just a few feet away) was anything to go by, he should have no problem enlisting Killian’s help.

He reaches the docks by mid-afternoon and immediately spots the yellow, blue and red paint job of the Jolly Roger (now apparently dubbed The Jewel of the Realm) anchored at the far end of the pier. Crew members shuffle up and down the ramp, unloading the ship’s cargo and finishing tasks that Henry is well-acquainted with thanks to multiple sailing trips with the captain in question.

Slipping through the crowd, Henry ascends to the main deck, unaccustomed to the way it looks in the sunlight, his only memories of being aboard tainted by his experience in Neverland. The hardwood floor is spotless, knots fastened securely and precisely (and though Henry has only ever tied a few of them, he considers himself quite the expert). His presence doesn’t go unnoticed for long, as his gawking is cut short by a deep voice behind him.

“Can I help you, lad?”

The request is courteous but the man’s delivery is stern. Henry turns around quickly, startled into nervousness which he hastily tries to school. If he has any intention of getting Killian to assist him, he needs to play it cool.

“Uh,” he blanks before clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders (just like the real Killian had taught him). “Are—are you the captain?”

He knows it’s a dumb question the moment he asks it—the man is dressed the part—but Killian makes no comment except to smile knowingly and take a few steps closer.

“Yes, I am. Captain Killian Jones, at your service.”

“I—I actually do need your help.” Killian perks up at that and places a hand (his left hand) at Henry’s back, ushering him away from the bustling sailors and up the stairs towards the helm.

He explains—rather, fibs—that something has been stolen from him. That a woman with blonde hair and green eyes is responsible. Although the woman’s description does nothing to jog Killian’s memory, Henry appeals to his sense of good form and code of honor, pleading with him in a way that would make Henry feel guilty if this wasn’t so important.

“Just one question,” responds Killian once Henry is done with his sob story. “Why me?”

“Because you’re good at finding people.” Or, more accurately, one person in particular, he thinks. Killian narrows his eyes at that, looking at him with the barest hint of recognition. His curiosity transforms into skepticism, however, and Henry can feel him pulling away. “I mean, you’re good at navigating, right? You have to be,” he recovers, speaking a mile a minute.

Killian’s features soften fractionally and he reluctantly agrees to help, though not even Henry really knows exactly why. He pats him on the shoulder and gives him a gentle smile.

“Now then: are we to travel by land or by sea?”

.  
.

They set sail a few hours later, just the two of them (“The less people who know, the better,” Henry had reasoned, and Killian had put up no argument). The sun was setting over the horizon, coloring the sky in pinks and oranges that were unlike anything Henry had ever seen. Killian had chuckled at his reaction, and was pleasantly surprised at how deftly Henry moved around the ship, often times heading instructions before they were even spoken aloud.

“You’ve got the see in your blood, my boy. You’re a natural.” Killian jokes just as they near the shore, ruffling the boy’s hair in an affectionate gesture that takes both of them by surprise.

“I had a really good teacher,” he replies, and suddenly Henry feels anxious at the thought of Killian never remembering him. That’s not gonna happen, he assures himself.

By the time night falls, they’re traveling on foot and, despite Killian’s cautioning to the dangers that could await them, he follows Henry steadfastly, intent on keeping his promise. As they continue deeper into the forest, past the dirt roads and far, far away from any neighboring villages, Henry gradually falls back. Killian is too tired and too focused to detect his tactic, but eventually it is the captain who is leading their expedition.

When they come upon a broken down hovel, which is heavily camouflaged by creeping vines and thick foliage, Killian halts unexpectedly, causing Henry to crash into him and whine at the impact. Killian shushes him immediately, raising his torch and inching nearer to the unkempt shack.

“Is this the place?” he asks, more to himself than to Henry, his timbre as faint as a whisper.

Without warning, a murky grey puff of smoke materializes before them, revealing a hooded figure whose head is bowed and arms are crossed. She lifts her chin pointedly, her cowl falling from her face to reveal furrowed brows, pursed lips, and dark circles under her eyes.

Despite her haggard appearance, Henry readily identifies her as Emma, and he sighs in relief. Killian, on the other hand, stiffens at her intrusion, extending his free arm protectively in front of Henry.

“Who the hell are you?” Emma roars, but her voice and inflection is so unmistakably hers that Henry is not remotely afraid or deterred.

Her fingertips spark and fizzle, a contrast to the way he’s used to seeing her glowing and vibrant magic manifest itself. She’s just as powerful as she always was, but there’s a darkness about her now. As she nears them, her robe opens up to reveal a black corset—kept together by belt buckles and leather straps—dark brown pants with holes as the knees, and sturdy boots that come up to her calves.

She’s a fearsome thing to be behold (most likely a sorceress or god-like witch in this world) but Henry sees past it, glancing over her shoulder to get a better look at her house. It’s compact, cozy and perfect for only one person. It reminds him of her apartment in Boston, with just her and her tiny cupcake perched on the kitchen counter, and it becomes clear to him: Emma’s un-happy ending is not just being corrupted by evil, but being alone.

“Do you know this boy?” Killian inquires, his tone distinctly accusatory, and angles the fire enough for her to get a good look at Henry. He speaks firmly but, just like Henry, he is not frightened of her; he is intrigued.

Emma actually considers his question and scrutinizes her son’s face keenly. Something passes over her as she does so. Emma becomes addled and distressed and hopeful, and Henry does his best to silently encourage her. When she reaches out to touch him, Killian goes to stand between them and Emma closes herself off again.

“No,” she says curtly. “I suggest you both go back where you came from.”

“With pleasure,” Killian retorts, bowing slightly as she walks away. “As soon as you return what you’ve stolen.”

Henry winces, having almost forgotten the tall tale he had spun. “Uh, no it’s ok, really—“

“I don’t steal,” she hisses, turning around sharply and marching back to them until she is mere inches away of Killian’s face. “Not anymore.”

There’s a vulnerability to her, one both Henry and Killian are perceptive to. “Forgive me,” the captain mutters, eyes darting from Emma’s lips to her eyes. He is utterly captivated. “I didn’t mean to offend you, milady.”

The tension between them dissipates with his apology but the electricity remains (and Henry tries his best to withstand the scene in front of him because this is exactly what he hoped would happen—they’re making progress—and he suppresses his impulse to roll his eyes and tell them to get a room). “Do you know of anyone who might be able to assists us?” Killian asks, attention divided between sticking to their mission and reading the lines on Emma’s face.

“Nope,” she sighs, tying her cloak tighter around her body. “Just me. Always has been.”

It troubles Henry to see her this way, all of their family’s progress seemingly undone in the blink of a eye (or, rather, a portal). Emma is back to being that lonely, lost girl, except this time her walls are higher, her heart colder, her edges rougher.

“An orphan, then. Forced to survive by any means necessary. Abandoned, I take it?”

Emma blinks rapidly, taken aback by his interest in her, mouth opening and closing but failing to produce words. “How did you—“ she says finally, appearing years younger, and her mood is elevated at just the prospect of being understood. “What would you know about that?” She scoffs noncommittally, her icy exterior melting with every passing minute.

“I’m intimately acquainted with it, actually.” He means it sincerely, but his thinly veiled innuendo is the direct result of his pirate tendencies coming to the surface.

“Oh jeez,” Henry mumbles under his breath, this time giving in to his urge to look away and give them some privacy. He places his fingers in front of his face, peaking through the cracks in between at every other exchange. It’s a mutual thing that’s happening: they are both unearthing the other’s true self and it’s only a matter of time before they’re pressed closely to each other, Killian’s hand coming up to stroke at her chin, Emma’s palm running up and down his sullied uniform.

“I don’t know why, but I feel as though… I know you somehow,” he breathes and she gasps, and then their lips fuse together, tentatively at first then with more confidence. Their kiss ends abruptly and they’re both panting and clutching at each other’s clothes.

Henry takes this as his cue to put down in hands and approach them, and the change he sees in Emma—and in Killian, too—is instantaneous.

“Henry?” she sobs, releasing her hold on Killian to wrap her son in her arms and squeeze tight. The curse (or spell or whatever) is broken, at least for the two of them, and Henry’s grin is so wide it’s almost painful.

“Welcome back, mom.” Emma sets him down but still maintains contact. She shifts the hair from his eyes and wipes away at the dirt on his cheek. “You too, Killian.”

“Well done, lad,” he comments, his laughter echoing through the trees, pride spilling out in waves. “Still a little spitfire.”

.  
. 

The next day, the three of them head out, off to tackle the next part of Henry’s plan, fully energized with an unconquerable sense of purpose, and Henry knows without a doubt that they will succeed in bringing back all the happy endings.

.

.


End file.
